The Girl Who Wore Jordans

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

I walked down the hall, exiting from room 512, ready to face the day head on.

       In homeroom, I had been interrogated by the girls (excluding Alice) about Californian boys, and, though they had each been there before, if they were indeed as mouthwatering as the boys on Hollister bags. Ha. My answer was the exemplary one when referencing the art of lying. I said something about them being hot, gorgeous surfers who were all totally chill. I truly amused myself at times with my mind.

       Californian boys were cute, I’d admit, but they were nothing out of the ordinary. I eventually found a core group of friends from my school, but when I moved to Texas, we lost touch. They weren’t the type of boys one could have a deep, meaningful friendship with. Most of the boys I hung out with were superficial, but they played basketball, so I settled. The one thing I would be forever in debt to those boys for was teaching me how to surf. 

       In Boston, my friends were real. They were the type of boys you couldn’t forget. On the outside, they weren’t the best-dressed kids; they were urban, scruffy guys. Now that I think of it, it was a miracle my mom even allowed me to talk to those boys, let alone befriend them. Their appearances were tough, and not the most inviting. If one got to know them, like I did, then it was realized fairly quickly how amazing they truly were. They were true, loyal friends that would never leave one another behind.

       Once, we were hanging out at a pizza parlor and when we were all done, almost everyone had gone. My mom was working late so didn’t have time to pick me up. One of my friends offered me a ride home. I declined, wanting to be independent. I decided to walk home, considering my house was right around the corner. Justin, my best friend at the time, came with me. He didn’t want me to be alone, and he didn’t want to be alone. We went back to my house together, and waited until my mom got home to drive him home. No matter what, we never left one another behind.

       “Liz,” someone said, jolting me out of my daydream.

       “Huh?” I said, looking up to view Eric. “Oh, hi.”

       “You look pretty today,” he complimented, looking me over.

       “Thank you,” I said politely, though I wanted say, “Bullshit.” I looked like a fucking cupcake today. I was forced to wear this hideous, pink, ruffled top that was just about the grossest thing I had ever laid eyes on. My dear mother, however, had assured me it was “High fashion”, and would be “All the rage” in a few months, considering she got it on her trip to the West Coast. That too I almost called B.S. on. No way in hell would this shirt (If it could even be called that) be “All the rage” in a few months. What moron considered this “Fashionable” (Besides my mom, of course)?

       When my mom got back from her trip, she asked me how things were. Being the oh-so honest daughter that I was, I told her that I threw a party. It was better to hear the truth first hand from the primary source, than from someone else. Besides, I knew my mom, and had no doubt in my mind that the punishment wouldn’t be too bad. Her response, however, surprised me. She said she was “Happy” that I was being a “Normal” teenager, and said that she was even gladder that I was telling her the truth firsthand. I may or may not have left out the part about the alcohol…

       In addition to the puke-triggering top, I had on white jeans. In the cold weather, I normally wore mesh shorts. Yes, I was indeed one of those people who never got cold. If by chance it happened to be snowing or freezing out, then my mom forced me to wear pants- jeans more specifically. In the past, I had worn straight, leg jeans that were relatively comfortable. To put it in simple terms, these jeans were most definitely not comfortable. They were tight and closed up at the bottom. It was close to impossible to get into them, and the results were even more displeasing.